


Not-Friends. Not Friends. Not...

by Antiago



Category: Wilde Life (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, OOC Cliff, Potentially Dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7477617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiago/pseuds/Antiago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not in danger anymore. They're fine. Cliff thinks Oscar should understand that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not-Friends. Not Friends. Not...

**Author's Note:**

> From ( http://www.wildelifecomic.com/comic/241 )

Oscar stumbles. Cliff surprises them both by pulling him closer. 

“Eyes,” he says, when something other than blood gleams behind the man's glasses. The gleam vanishes.

 _(”Sorry about the blood.”)_

Cliff remembers tasting it. 

_It wasn't horrible,_ he thinks, vaguely surprised. It wasn't _good_ either, no, but it's just... stuff.

Everything is just stuff. 

_I won._

Every shallow breath from the body beside him proves that. 

_I-won I-won I-won._

The realization sinks into him like a heartbeat. Critical. Constant. Soon unconscious but always present. 

“They're not as tough as they look,” he says, in case Oscar doesn't understand that everything is all right now. 

“Wouldn't know.” Oscar's voice is barely there.

_He's ok enough to joke. He's ok. He's fine._

“Hah hah,” says Cliff, like the joke isn't funny enough to laugh at. Because Oscar is a dork, and it isn't. He smiles anyway. Shows his teeth at the dark because Oscar is a dork. 

“I can handle them,” he says, to make sure.

Oscar says nothing. Oscar is being so, so quiet. 

_He should be,_ comes a thought that thinks itself. Foreign. Like a presence hovering with its chin on Cliff's shoulder and satisfied smile on a level with his ear. _He's afraid._

Earlier today Cliff would have thought _“Of course,”_ and _“What did I expect?”_ Bitter. Angry. Misjudged. 

Tonight is different. His hand curls under Oscar's bicep. The human warmth should be intolerable but instead it's like the blood. Not bad. Not good. It just is. 

Oscar's uncertain footsteps follow his lead. Relying on him. Needing him.

_But he'd pull away if he could._

Oscar should be scared. 

Oscar should be _careful._

Something skitters across the back of Cliff's hand. He looks down and finds eight perfectly round eyes observing him from the man's shoulder. He bats the spider away. 

Oscar stops breathing. 

“Cliff?”

“Nothing,” Cliff tells him, “just a spider. We're almost there," he adds because they are, and they're fine. Oscar is still acting like he doesn't understand that.


End file.
